


Most Things are Some Level of 'Probably'

by earlybloomingparentheses



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Emotions, Love, M/M, Post-Live Show: Condos, Uncertainty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlybloomingparentheses/pseuds/earlybloomingparentheses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s a scientist. He’s good with facts. Data. Empirical evidence. Not so much with feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Things are Some Level of 'Probably'

**Author's Note:**

> "Everything is some level of 'probably,' nothing is a promise."
> 
> -Carlos, "Condos"

“Doesn’t it bother you?” 

Carlos blinks, stares at the frothing beaker he’s holding for a second longer, blinks again, and then looks up. 

“Sorry, what?” 

His new lab assistant, Divya, is surveying him with mild curiosity. Carlos is privately unsure how he acquired a new lab assistant nearly two years into his tenure at Night Vale, one who appears to have come fresh from the Outside World (as Carlos has long since taken to thinking of it, with a vague memory that at one point it was an important place to him, for reasons he doesn’t particularly care if he ever recalls), but there she is, standing before the monitor that still registers Night Vale’s invisible seismic shifts despite the fact that Carlos no longer considers them a notable scientific anomaly. 

Divya nods at the radio, currently crackling with Cecil’s deep, rich voice. “Your boyfriend. When he says things about your relationship on his show.” 

Carlos’ brow creases ever so slightly. His mind is still on the contents of the bubbling beaker, and he has to cast around for a moment to remember what Cecil just said. 

“… _Carlos—perfectly imperfect Carlos—forgot to come home for dinner last night. He forgot to come home at_ all _, listeners! By the time the two agents of the Sheriff’s Secret Police had slipped into their nightly doze in our front hedges, I was beginning to fear that he had been paralyzed by an attack of throat spiders, or had been kidnapped by escaped librarians. But I kept calm—as was evidenced by how many people responded to my rush down the darkening streets of Night Vale with startled screams and encouraging looks of terror—and made my way to Carlos’ lab, where, it transpired, he had forgotten that although clocks don’t work in Night Vale, and the sunsets never occur when they should, there is such a thing as dinner time, and,_ of course, _bedtime. Carlos had gotten caught up in one of his experiments—oh, he is so_ cute _when he’s doing science!—and I lovingly dragged him home, only mentioning once or twice that while science will definitely still be there in the morning, I, given the eternally uncertain state of existence, might not, and also that if he feels the need to work at all hours of the day, he is welcome to experiment on_ me _at any time. Listeners, no one is perfect, and I will love Carlos even when he forgets to come home for dinner and the bloody mushrooms I was preparing walk off in protest before he arrives. And yet I think that observing the ritual of a shared mealtime gives_ meaning _to our otherwise chaotic, directionless, utterly random lives—and when we are sharing it with someone so perfect and beautiful as_ Carlos _—well, then it simply can’t be beat._ ” 

Carlos can sort of understand, theoretically, what Divya finds questionable about this statement. Cecil is airing a lot of their private business on the radio. But this is _Night Vale_. Everyone is being watched, all of the time, by vaguely menacing government agents, the Sheriff’s Secret Police, spies for totalitarian corporations, angels, aliens, lights in the sky, the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home, and probably about two dozen other entities they know nothing about. So what is privacy, really? 

Divya will understand that soon enough. 

And anyway, more to the point, Carlos finds it—well, helpful. He’s a scientist. He’s good with facts. Data. Empirical evidence. Not so much with feelings. Relationships have always been confusing to him, minefields he must navigate without a map or the proper safety equipment. In the past, back in the Outside World, his partners said things like _Of course I still love you, everything is fine_ when they really meant _You forgot to buy milk_ or _I’d rather be sleeping with that dumb beautiful checkout boy with eyes like a dazed cow._ They’d insist they weren’t angry when Carlos forgot dates because he got caught up in his experiments, and Carlos would believe them, and then he wouldn’t understand why they spent the next few days stomping around and giving him passive-aggressive looks. Carlos doesn’t _understand_ passive-aggressive. It doesn’t compute. 

But Cecil is never passive-aggressive. Cecil is never confusing. Cecil says exactly what he means exactly when it occurs to him—which is usually while he’s speaking on public radio. When Cecil fell in love with Carlos, he declared it immediately, and Carlos never had to go through the agonizing process of trying to puzzle out his true feelings through complex layers of communication and unreliable body language and words that never mean quite what they say. Now, when Carlos’ behavior bothers Cecil, he states it outright, and Carlos knows exactly what he needs to change. It’s so very _helpful_. Carlos never has to guess at what Cecil wants or feels. And he is always being approached by kind citizens of Night Vale who are eager to offer him relationship advice after one of Cecil’s more personal broadcasts. Carlos can often use relationship advice. Old Woman Josie, assisted by her divine and non-existent compatriots, is particularly good at giving it. 

He shrugs. “Nah,” he says, smiling at Divya. “Given the eternally uncertain state of existence, it’s nice to know some things for sure.” 

She looks thoughtful. Then she looks alarmed, as the seismometer begins to emit a low crooning sound, and for the first time in Carlos’ stay in Night Vale, flatlines completely. According to the monitor, no seismic activity is happening right now _at all_. 

And then the earth begins to shake. 

“ _Oh, listeners, do you_ feel _that_?” Cecil’s voice asks with delighted interest over the radio. “ _I bet Carlos is just_ losing his mind _with excitement right now. Are you listening out there, Carlos? Do you know what this earthquake reminds me of? The fragile tremblings of my heart whenever you are near.”_  

Carlos grabs a table to keep from stumbling to the floor, beakers smashing as they fall, splashing their contents into the air, smoke and sparks and an acrid burning smell erupting all around him, and grins, laughs, shouts with joy and triumph because this is Night Vale and nothing is _ever_ certain but Cecil _is_ , Cecil is his one constant in this mad, brilliant, chaotic world and Carlos has never been happier.


End file.
